A Kiss for A Bruise
by Nemaline
Summary: The first time they had kissed was on a Georgian winter, as little more than teens. Leonard had wanted to heal Spock, and Spock had wanted to be warmed. Can this goodwill persist into life on the enterprise?
1. Winter Wonders

Spock held his elbow close in to his body, frowning. His mother had stayed on Vulcan, hoping to coax his older brother out of one of those frightening moods of his. And Sarek wouldn't be pleased to have negotiations interrupted by him being clumsy—real vulcans weren't clumsy enough to slip on ice, Spock was sure. Never mind that Spock hadn't seen ice before this and was sure than no other vulcans living on the equator had either. So, Spock looked at the door to the large banquet hall and actively decided to stay outside, on the cement patio that all other life-forms had abandoned in favour of the heated and bright building interior.

"Hey," Spock tensed as the voice called out, too frozen to jump at the unexpected noise coming from the other direction, or even to turn and see who had spoken—which really didn't seem like an issue as the steeps increased cadence as they approached from behind him, clearly coming to meet him. "Hey, you alright?" A human boy who was surely younger than Spock circled cautiously to stand in front of him, short of breath and starting to bite on his lower lip the second he stopped moving.

"I am satisfactory." Spock forced his own lips to carve out of the frozen-ice air.

"Satis—oh, I ain't ever seen a Vulcan before." The boy took a step closer, directing his eyes away from Spock's exposed ears, while pushing a hand through his well-groomed brown hair, as though it was even long enough to be in the way. Snow transferred from his hair to his gloved hand. "Aren't you guys not supposed to like the cold or something?"

"Vulcans, although mammalian, are cold blooded. As I have already said, I am nevertheless satisfactory." Spock's jaw was requiring unaccustomed effort to direct towards remaining still.

The boy stuck out a hand, "I'm Leonard, pleased to meet you."

For a moment it seemed as though the stray conversation floating out on the crystallized water stilled, as neither teen said a word. Spock, pulling his arms yet closer into himself replied, "As you have shown an interest in my species, you may find it fascinating to learn that vulcans convey intimacy through hand contact with one and other."

Leonard drew his hand back. Then, his mouth twisted awkwardly again, teeth seeming to suck in his lower lip permanently this time. The hand shoot back out, a smile for the first time gracing the others face. "Well, humans convey intimacy through it to and besides, I'm not a vulcan, am I." His hand hung out in the air for three mississippi's. The smile grew. "Sure you don't want to try. It's polite."

Spock hid his distaste at those words, which were tossed around on his trip to Earth with alarming frequency. But they remained enough motivation to extend his hand to the earthling across from him. He was in Georgia after all to show that xenophobia no longer played a vital role in communications between disparate cultures. Once his fingers wrapped around Leonard's larger ones, Spock immediately made an attempt to remove them—the glove was cold from the frost, and even without direct hand-to-hand contact the situation was less than ideal. The hand tightened around his without warning. Spock would have grimaced had his facial muscles allowed it. Instead, with voice pitched at the breaking sound it had only some months ago stopped exhibiting in normal conversation, he said, "I would much like for you to release me now."

"Wha—oh, yeah." The other let go of his hand before stepping yet closer, not even looking at his eye level while doing so.

Spock took an equal length step backwards, careful this time not to slip on the ice he now knew he was standing on. In a voice imitating as well he could his father Spock asked, "What is your intent in entering my personal space?"

Leonard stopped stalking forward then, carefully straightening his back and taking care to not lean forward. "I'm three feet away from you, personal space is a lot closer pal." He crossed his arms, before immediately seeming to loosen them again, "And you're bleeding, if that's what that green stuff is. Let me have a look—my Dad's a doctor."

Spock without taking his eyes off of the other, although no longer moving away from him either, spoke. "Skills of that specificity are non-heritable. What is it that you propose to do?" Then, in a manner he had been told by his father to not speak in while here, Spock added, "Unless, of course, you mean to stare at my wound and do nothing."

Drawing himself to full height, Leonard scuffed. "Of course not. Now trust me and let me see that elbow!"

"I fail to see—" Spock was cut off as the other successfully lunged for his elbow and held it between his hands.

The other didn't even look up, unapologetically mumbling, "If you can't see, it must be pretty serious."

"—why I should trust you." Spock, not caring to start a scene and then have to find somewhere else to spend the night, gave in to the stubborn child's ministrations.

That is when Leonard ducked his head down towards the elbow and pressed his dry lips to it. Spock startled and if not for the steadying hand placed quickly round his back, would have suffered yet another injury. Leonard made a rumbling sound in his chest Spock had only ever heard from his mother and more recently, from Sybok. Spock couldn't quiet determine which person Leonard sounded most like in that moment. Leonard, grin full bodied now, like it had just being waiting for that moment to come out announced, "Sorry, I just thought that if we'd kissed the vulcan way, we'd better kiss the human way too. It's only fair, right?"

Spock held his chin perfectly perpendicular to the ground, doing a monumental job of not noticing that he was now half wrapped in a strangers arms. "How is it fair to trick me into two private actions. Please explain yourself."

"Adrenaline, it will warm you up." Leonard took his hand off the small of Spock's back, and the other off of his elbow. And then, without taking a step backwards and thus still very much in Spock's proclaimed personal space, Leonard began removing his gloves.

Spock, not able to stand even for the inept to suffer, couldn't help but speak. "I do not recommend removal of any clothing—the current temperature is capable of causing frostbite."

"Yeah, I'm well aware." Of all things then, Leonard started humming.

"They why—what are you doing?" Spock stumbled over his words.

One glove came off, exposing a pink hand underneath. "I'm humming a carol. You know, a Christmas tune." Then the other glove came off.

"By your calendar it is January." Spock was well aware of this, the diplomatic negotiations being carefully scheduled to avoid the still active holiday, much to both their hosts and his own mothers delight. Leonard stood there, gloves in hand. "As well, I was enquiring about the removal of your hand-wear."

"Oh that. Hmm . . . sure feels like Christmas." Leonard rocked on the balls of his feet just once before stilling. "Give me your hand and you'll figure it out."

"You cannot expect me to possibly give in to your demands in yet another instance?"

"Yes, I can. And yes, I do. Now let me have your hand please." At Spock's insistence on standing still, Leonard sighed. "Look, they're gloves, they'll keep your hands warm. And, because they belong to me and not to you, I get to put them on you." Leonard demonstrated what belonged to who with pointing back and forth at him and Spock, wrist bending oddly to point inwards given that he wasn't moving away.

Spock considered for a moment the logic in freezing his hands for the sake of his pride. "Very well. If you wish, you may lend me you're gloves." Spock held one hand out, not straight out and bumping into the others chest like had been done to him, but bent at the elbow and angled inwards.

"Thanks." Leonard prefaced his movements for the first time. "I don't want to see you hurt yourself now." The first glove fit on, too large for Spock but smaller would have been worse anyway—cutting off blood pressure would in no manner help to prevent loss of limb. "And black seems to suit you." The other glove snapped on, mainly due to Leonard pulling the elastic back from Spock's wrist and letting it go.

"I thank you for your consideration." Spock intoned once the new pain radiating from his wrist died down.

"You're welcome." Leonard took a step back. "Would you like to say thank you in a really considerate way?"

Spock glanced down at his new gloves, pulling them down harder so that the tips of his fingers were connecting with the warm fabric. He didn't look at the others eyes as he said, "I believe I may want to properly express my appreciation of your aid."

"Okay then, what is your name?"

Spock blinked and glanced up, having expected something else. "My name is Spock. Again—"

Leonard titled forward and pressed his now purple lips against Spock's browning ones. Once he pulled back, a mere second latter Spock's internal clock informed him, despite how long it had seemed, "You can't kiss somebody if you don't know them."

"Indeed. I—" Spock looked at the other, then he took his forward step and touched their mouths together lighter but longer than previously. He pulled back, and finished. "—I believe I wanted to try that again. So as to see if the experience was consistent." Spock coughed on his last words, cheeks greening with warmed blood.

"Aren't you just adventurous."

After a silence had passed, Leonard content to merely stand in silence, Spock broke the spell that had occurred. "May I ask what you are doing here, _Le_nard?"

"Oh, me? I just saw somebody standing here shivering all by his lonesome and slipped through the gate."

"I shall—have to speak to my father about security." Spock looked away, until he caught sight of the single guard pacing the perimeter.

"Well, you go do that." Spock looked up and Leonard was ten paces away already, hand waving in the sky as he didn't even look in the direction he was walking.


	2. A Kiss

Spock perched on the edge of the biobed, eyes focused statuesquely on the bare thread drapery enclosing him. The translucent white made it seem as though he was viewing the goings-on of the infirmary from a distance and through a vertical blanketing of snow.

That crystallized feeling; the freezing of time on that one event; the senses that would shatter like his planet were it mentioned. That crystallized feeling had been falling on him for the past three weeks. That feeling of distinctiveness, conferred on him through her billowing love, was swallowed whole by the numbness and whited-out of his memory.

On this day, his father could be found on the planet below—Deimos, or Mars II—chosen as a temporary base for what remained of the vulcan-race. It converged on all the necessary qualities needed for a temporary abode; it was close to Earth, it could be supplied and guarded easily; it was terraformed over five decades ago, sand and heat remained abundant due to difficulties with its acidic pH levels; a pervasive sense uninviting predominated it, a place where they would not remain nor would they want to. His father could be found far removed from his home, where-as Amanda had stayed on her adopted world. Spock himself was divided between the two.

Sybok had tossed himself into the void a decade and a half ago.

And Dr. McCoy was pulling back the blind for a brief moment, before it floated back into place.

"We're doing the standard 'Fleet form today. They can't do anything without up to date paperwork, can they?"

"It appears that they cannot."

McCoy looked up from the personal access display device, otherwise known as a padd, mouth making an odd motion. "Is that a sense of humour developing?"

"No."

His maw stilled. "Oh." McCoy looked back down and began:

"Yes or, or maybe and, no only. Have you ever had or do you now have any of the following: medically untreated or untreatable asthma, wheezing, or inhaler use?"

"Yes and no."

McCoy didn't move the stylus to record that answer, mumbled, "We ought get that growth checked out."

"Growth, Doctor?"

McCoy grunted, "Never mind. Just expand on your last answer."

"I was incubated when I was artificially grown." (Had he ever had a mother?)

"That's a no then." McCoy's stylus glided across the screen. "Dislocated joint; including knee, hip, shoulder, elbow, ankle or other joint, which was not properly set using a regenerator?"

"Yes."

"May I have your joint?"

"My left elbow and my left wrist have both undergone injury." (Sybok pulling him along, him not following, him hiding out for days after in a cave making his parents think that both their sons had found happiness in the cold of space.) "It does not affect my shooting ability. I will forward you all pursuant testing presently."

McCoy mauled his lip, then, "Never you mind about that growth. Epilepsy, fits, seizures, or convulsions?"

"Negative."

"Positive?"

"Yes, _please _continue."

"Sleepwalking? Into other people's bedrooms is, oddly enough, most common."

"I have dreams."

"You—," McCoy refocused his eyes to above Spock's squared shoulders, "about what?"

"My dreams are about nothing specific. Such unconscious wanderings are merely unusual for vulcans. We keep control over not only our bodies, but our minds also, making my dreaming comparable to your sleep walking."

McCoy tapped the stylus against the padd twice. "That's a no then—it's not really the same for you." He scrawled his answer onto Spock's form, "Recurrent back or neck pain?" He glanced at Spock's posture, "Nope. Foot pain?"

"Negative. **No**."

McCoy nodded along, "A swollen, painful, or dislocated joint or fluid in a joint, let's say knee, shoulder, wrist, elbow, E C T?"

"You are repeating yourself. My elbow and wrist have not recovered within the minutes prior."

"I'm jus' reading the military entrance processing form, what with you doing active service and all now 'stead of just teaching. Mind _and _body; remember saying that?"

"Yes."

"Uh-hu. That one wasn't a question, officer. Double vision."

"My rank is commander. I have two eyes leading to dual depth perception, as do you."

"Whatever you say, Commander. No need to get feisty now. Periods of unconsciousness, fainting spells or passing out? Not occurring after any type of drinking."

"I have been rendered unconscious by the vulcan nerve pinch when we practiced it as children. I do not consume alcohol. I also do not understand why you are doing this."

"Continuing on: frequent or severe headaches causing loss of time from work or school or taking medication to prevent frequent or severe headaches?"

"I would treat any such condition with medication; you have access to my medical history; you therefore know I do not have any such condition. Please explain yourself."

McCoy looked up, blinking breaking up the eye contact between then, courtesy of Spock's continuing stare. "That monstrosity has every document since _before_ your conception. I'm still catching up to the test subjects in the double digits—did you know there were two-hundred-sixty-seven attempts over three years? Group trials of ten each before they changed anything—stubborn as you." McCoy glared back down, "Head injury, including skull fracture, resulting in concussion, loss of consciousness, headaches, other stuff?"

"I currently am receiving a headache. I _did not _mean for you to explain your ignorance—that was a given. The length—"

"**I take offence to that. **Next question, back surgery. Laying down on it all day can do that?"

"The length—"

"That you lay down isn't that long. I understand—not everyone's Jim Kirk."

"Are you implying—"

"And whew, we're at the last one already. Want to see a psychiatrist, psychologist, social worker, counselor or other professional for any reason?" McCoy bounced on the balls of his feet, "Ya know, 'cause you do seem to get kind of iffy whenever Jim comes up."

"The length of the M.E.P. is such that these questions—fifty-eight of which you have neglected—are given in digital format, and returned to the central Star Fleet terminal, to be updated automatically. Explain yourself."

"I just thought someone should talk to you." McCoy looked straight up now, no longer dissembling. "I've said what I've had to say now."

Spock stood up, arms tugged behind his back. "You will release me now?"

"Yep. That is, if you want me to . . . oh god, are you going to write me up?" McCoy rubbed his free palm against his slacks.

"If you ask me another question, then I will do so without hesitance."

"Can you just answer that last one?"

Spock, already straight as a barrage of arrows, seemed to straighten further by tensing his muscles. "Excuse me?"

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest, padd in one hand and stylus in the other, footing starting a rapid tapping in time with his pulse. "Nope," his head swung back and forth, "not until you answer it." In preparation for the coming blow, McCoy's feet stilled and spread to shoulder width apart, an attempt to gain the balance of power in this play.

"Very well, if it will appease you: I do not wish to see anyone."

McCoy's tongue darted out between his lips. "Not even Uhura?"

"That was not the prior nature of your question. You appear to not have been finished as you claimed prior. I will ask one more time, and one more time only, for an explanation that will avoid a reprimand being placed in your file."

McCoy shrugged, "Well, damned if I do and damned if I don't." That odd tugging about his lips resumed. "I guess it's not like I ever really need another promotion." McCoy absorbed himself in the shutting off of his padd, gaze flitting between down and up.

"Should you make a valid attempt I will—"

—

McCoy was red, as though his body were trying to warm itself throughout. "I guess I really shouldn't have done that." And, "can I do it again?"

Spock found himself frozen in a moment different from the void surrounding him. "Yes."

Leonard leaned forward again, titled his head back to press against the others higher lips. He held for a few seconds exactly like that before putting more pressure inwards, lips seeking warmth within the cold blooded man across from him, before pulling back.

His pupils were blown as he returned Spock's stare.

"You ain't still with Uhura right? She'd gut me and use my hide for a rug." McCoy's body convulsed as though a chilling wind were buffeting him.

"Is that another medical question?"

McCoy lunged forward, arms wrapping around the vulcan. "No, and if you don't answer I'm not letting go—I am going to hold on to you for as long as I can."

Spock had held his arms out to his sides at the sudden, earth shattering, motion. He pulled them in however at the end of the proclamation. "_Le_nard. You can let go, if you would like. I believe we still have fifty-eight questions to cover before I am going anywhere."

Leonard nuzzled his nose into the others neck, their differing height making them a perfect match. "I don't see why we can't do it like this."

"The curtains are translucent. Your staff can see us." Spock said the words, but tightened his grip, knowing he'd soon be forced to let go.


	3. A Bruise

It had lasted a whole week longer than Spock had thought it would, or, for that matter, than it ought to have. He had not thought it would work at all. Meaning that it had lasted a week total, being that he hadn't—still didn't—hold out hope for anything between them.

"Spock, are you _even_ listening?!" Nyota—Uhura now—shouted from across the feet separating them, where she held in her hand a holovid which she had immediately picked up upon entering Leonard's—McCoy's—office.

Spock, hand slipping out of McCoy's to the sensation of a pressure valve releasing with a hiss in his inner mind, answered calmly, "I am indeed listening, Lieutenant. You have asked for an explanation." His hands held still hidden behind his back, feeling as though the loss of warmth from the other had turned them into ice. He was never warm on this ship without the other—and although it was only a short time he had spent with him, he knew he would not be warm on the ship again.

Leonard—McCoy—reacting belatedly, took a step away from him. "I think," his voice certainly sounded like ice, if it still mattered any, "that means you had better damn well explain. You said you weren't dating her." Spock observed that Leonard's hands were not as calm as his own, forming fists and twitching spastically. It was to be expected—he honestly had not known that this was the inevitable conclusion. Spock allowed himself a moment of empathy before he slid his telepathic shields fully in place, the defenses he should have never let slide back to where they belonged.

Uhura put the holovid back on the shelf unit, a virtual replication of a girl who's picture Spock had also seen in Le-McCoy's—personal quarters. He had not asked about it then, and does not regret that now. She stepped forward, angled more towards McCoy than to himself. She reached a hand out to his shoulder, "Is he worth getting a mark on your record, at the least?" Her voice was pitched low, in a falsetto of privacy she knew she was not receiving. Her eyes were shining.

McCoy breathed in. He breathed out. "I'm pretty sure it would make a satisfying thud." His fists unfurled. "But I don't want to hurt anyone else today." He glanced at Uhura, still taking care to keep Spock in his periphery, as Spock was doing with him since this had started. The tension travelled down to his leg where his foot tapped out a beat of _one_-**two**, _one_-**two**. His arms crossed over his chest as much to protect him, as, Spock suspected, to protect he himself. "What were you _thinking_? Were ya thinking?"

Spock, shoulders already squared and already steeled, turned his gaze to the other man without actually turning to fully face him. "I do not believe I ever explicitly stated that I was not dating the Lieutenant. As you know I, along with the remaining Vulcans, cannot lie." Spock did not swallow down, the other lies stuck in his throat—he had not lied to this man, he could not, and he was not going to begin doing so now.

The hands clenched again, and Uhura slid her fingers further down his former ashayamsi arm. Spock thought that maybe there was some hope here, after all, for something beneficial to occur. "Well, you ain't a real vulcan, now are ya?"

"I suspect I should leave." Spock spoke, not realizing until after he said it that his feet were frozen to the ground, as though awaiting command from the angry male.

"Hang on." McCoy snapped before going around to the opposite side of his desk, and picking up his Padd while gripping the thin stylus like a life line. He thrust it over the desk, the screen switching automatically to face Spock. "Sign there."

Spock moved to pick it up, blasé "I should hope I am not signing my resignation." His eyebrow rose once he saw what he was to sign, and the stylus froze above the screen—in truth, he had been expecting resignation papers, either his own or McCoy's, and would have signed either. "You are removing yourself as my primary medical provider?" He could not, would not, abandon his health so easily.

"Yep."

"May I enquire as to why?"

McCoy snorted at that, and Spock could feel Uhura's eyes clinging to his back. "You're an adulterer, with me being one of the _unwitting _parties. I can't believe someone as smarts as you—supposedly—are can't puzzle that one out."

"Nevertheless," Spock cleared his throat, "I am disappointed that you would be willing to risk a life over this by submitting me to inferior care."

McCoy met his gaze, and Spock found he could not look away. "M'Benga will do. Or Chapel. Can't say I wouldn't resort to amputation over a paper cut. 'Sides, all us humans are inferior playthings to you, right?"

"I see." Spock signed the padd, doing a decent performance of an automaton in the process. His heart rate sped, knowing that they'd still be serving on the same ship. It could have been much worse. It could be much better than this. "Goodnight Lieutenant-Commander," he nodded to the man he had been kissing as Uhura had walked in, and then he turned towards the door and by virtue of that movement the woman her had been dating the last four months, one week, and two days. "Lieutenant."

"Commander."

Spock left, the door sliding shut behind him. He did not look back. His first month of service on the Enterprise was behind him, and he had the next fifty-nine to live through.

Leonard was getting sick and tired of it. Spock sat with them every damnable day, always across from Jim and so nearly across from him. He acted normal: stiff movements, no eye contact and job related talk only. Uhura, although she didn't talk to the man, sat next to him when there was no other space available. It had taken her two weeks, being that she could sit at any other table if needed bar the bubble universe of the engineers, but still. How could she. Leonard glared at the two, Spock not noticing, although Uhura met his gaze with some type of resolution he couldn't fathom.

"I'm not hungry today, Jim. Just lost my appetite." Leonard rose as dignified as he could with his tray, the meat suddenly being churned like it was in a grinder through his stomach.

҉

Leonard glanced up as the door opened, thinking that he _had _booked this lab privately. When he saw the other man—no, he wasn't even human, really—he looked back down through the microscope lens, thinking to notice something he had missed before. If Spock wanted to talk to him, well, he wasn't going to make it easy.

. . .

Leonard forced his back to not twitch; it had been ten minutes since he'd started giving Spock the cold shoulder and the door hadn't swooshed back closed. He swirled around then, repressed anger bubbling to the surface—Spock acting normal? Fine. But Spock acting weird? He certainly wouldn't act like that was normal. "What in blazes do you want?!"

Leonard studiously glanced around the room after his own echo had died down, looking for any sign that someone was still in here with him, or indeed had ever been.

* * *

i

Ashayam: A vulcan term for beloved.


End file.
